


The Storm Forming, A Coda to Oncoming Storm

by Project0506



Series: Soft Wars [56]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Character Study, Gen, gen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:28:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23793118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506
Summary: Torrent finds their Scout.
Series: Soft Wars [56]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1683775
Comments: 82
Kudos: 657





	The Storm Forming, A Coda to Oncoming Storm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sheApunk89](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheApunk89/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Oncoming Storm](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23785642) by [Project0506](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Project0506/pseuds/Project0506). 



> Started to poke at reviews, saw someone asked a VERY valid question. We got how Torrent picked two of three. I had planned to leave the third kind of cliffhanger-y. But Jesse's my boo, and we all know how Rex feels about Having The Full Set.
> 
> ~~So whoever asked how they found Jesse, this is for you. I forget who you are right now, I'll come back and gift you as soon as I find your review again.~~
> 
> Edit: ... I should have known. Well at least this time you didn't torment the OneNote, it went straight to a Word doc.

Jesse’s got a standoff set around him: a no-go zone cautiously maintained by chittering, gossiping brothers who left their balls in the changing room.

Jesse fights dirty, and there’s not a one of them in here man enough to step up to that. He’d be proud, if he could muster up anything except the old, tired edges of anger and the slice of uncertainty with every day that goes by that he’s _not being useful_.

The monitor squeals in protest as his next punch lands in the measuring zone and pissily ups the impact surface resistance. It’s the third time it’s done that since Jesse started hammering at it. He’d be proud of that too. But.

That’s a lot of work, isn’t it? Being proud? Too much.

His shoulders, wrists, hell his hips and back, are all warm under the strain of keeping this rain of blows coming. Warm, but not burning. Jesse knows to stop before that. If his number comes up, he’s not going to let ‘was a dumbass and pulled something in the gym’ get in the way of an assignment. That would the epitome of real useless.

Kind of like the brass that’s been watching his ass for the past twenty minutes.

Jesse is suddenly, unaccountably furious. Who’s he think he is, haunting the observation deck, just watching his game pieces try to get ready for the next player he’ll throw them at? And when his fool tactics ignite _spectacularly_ , what? Just throw the leftovers back here, swing through the cadets next door and grab a couple replacement squads?

Jesse straightens, rolls out the stiffness in his neck. His eyes climb up. The brass is trussed up in dress grays, Captain’s bars visibly gleaming even from here.

He’s moving before he’s aware he’s decided to.

“Vod1,” someone hisses, warning, but he waves them off without looking. Man’s just going to have a conversation, is all. No harm in that is there?

Besides, _everyone_ knows if there was any confrontation brewing, any _danger_ bubbling then CT-5597 is already booking it in the opposite direction isn’t he? Long before any officer thinks there’s even any reason to call a retreat. That was always the great big joke, plenty of mockery to go around. CT-5597 will always hit first, and always run first.

Except Jesse’s the only one of them who made it out of that last one. Kind of hard to mock.

He takes the stairs two at a time. His quads are tightening up, he’ll switch to cardio once this trash fire is done being nice and messy.

“Can I help you with something sir?” He’s honey sweet hiding venom, because Jesse’s always been best at protecting himself more than anything.

“I was planning to wait until you were through making the unarmed combat droids regret their programming.”

Jesse smiles. The ones who think they’re funny like it when you smile. “I think it would appreciate the save, sir.”

The Captain inclines his head.

Jesse falls into parade rest. He’s not been told to hold attention. “CT-5597, sir,” he says.

“5597,” The Captain acknowledges. “You have a name?”

Jesse chooses to not lie. “Yes, sir.” But he also chooses not to cooperate. He refuses to feel awkward.

It doesn’t even seem to give the other man pause. “Captain Rex, 501st. Torrent Company,” he introduces. “I have a position for you.”

There’s a standard-issue PT bag at his feet, full. This Captain Rex came down here to work out. Jesse wonders if he had come in here looking for Jesse at all. Or if there was just something he saw in Jesse wailing on a punching droid, brothers shifting ever further away,that made him offer impulsively. Jesse doesn’t like it.

Five minutes ago he’d have thought he’d take any position offered.

“Never heard of a Torrent Company,” Jesse says warily. He would have. He’d gone looking for anything with gaps. But he’s a generalist who doesn’t have a squad anymore; he’s as low-priority as it gets.

“Our charter’s still warm from the printer,” Captain Rex says. “And I don’t bid on squad billets.”

_I_ don’t bid. Jesse finds himself straightening. Not _we_ , not _the CC_ , not _Company command_. This isn’t A Captain of Torrent Company, this is somehow the Company Commander. _The_ Captain who’s out recruiting for his Company, and who wants _Jesse_.

That changes things. “What kind of position are we talking? Sir.”

The Captain’s lips quirk up into a small, wry smile and Jesse hates it immediately. “Scout,” he says, and Jesse definitely hates wherever this is going.

“I’m close-mid range weaponry,” he protests. Scouts come from Snipers, Trackers. Observational specialists. Sure Jesse fits the typical stereotype, but he’s had no training in anything that would be required to fill a Scout slot.

He ignores the little voice in his head that reminds him that his last Scout Specialist _had_ had that training, and was still shit at it. Jesse kept noticing things before he did, and he’d been too arrogant to pay attention to a lowly brand new Sergeant.

“Whoever’s in your Scout Command position should have given you requirements,” he presses when it doesn’t look like the Captain is in any way deterred. Scout Command _also_ should be presenting Company Command with a preselected list of names for staffing. All the Captain _should_ have to do is approve it.

Jesse shouldn’t be on that list. He’s infantry. A generalist, with nothing at all on his record that stands out. He shouldn’t be anywhere near a list of any sort of specialist recruits.

Especially not Scouts. Entire companies rely on Scouts not fucking up. Jesse knows that personally.

“I have the position requirements,” the Captain says mildly. “I find I have different priorities. Do you want the job?”

Yes.

Yes he does, viciously, achingly badly. He could be good at it, he knows it. He knows he could be better at it than the his last Scout was. He could be someone who makes sure the brothers behind him always, always get enough warning. He could be the one that, one way or another, makes sure his brothers get home.

He wants it so badly he hurts.

“I’m not quali-”

“Torrent will train.”

It’s a chance. It’s a _chance_ and he doesn’t deserve it. “Your Scout Commander is going to _hate you_ sir,” Jesse chokes.

Captain Rex’s face is mostly enigmatic, but there’s something boyish and mischievous at the corners of his mouth. Jesse sees enough to be suspicious, but doesn’t know enough to understand why. “Very much,” he confirms. “But I’m sure he’ll get over it. Eventually.”

Jesse laughs at a joke he knows is there, but can’t see the punchline. He straightens to attention, salutes. He’s done the motion thousands of times, but this feels like the first time it matters. “I’d be honored to accept sir.”

“Good. Welcome aboard Lieutenant.”

“Sergeant, sir.” Jesse doesn’t want to start this with any misunderstandings. He wants The Captain to know exactly what he’s getting, how much work Jesse’s going to be. “CT-5597, Sergeant Jesse, reporting.”

The Captain gives that unreadable smile again. “My mistake.”

Jesse takes the words for what they are. Something’s odd, but he’ll pick at it later. Maybe the Captain is just the type that likes to seem inscrutable.

“You’ll report to me,” the Captain says. “Later. This day has been filled with people I’m not allowed to visibly dislike and I need to hit something. Are you up for a spar, trooper?”

Jesse thinks he might like this Captain of Torrent. He hopes, idly knowing how little a Sergeant interacts with command, that he’ll get some chance to work directly with this Captain Rex sometime. He seems like he’d be a riot.

“I fight dirty,” Jesse warns, already anticipating, his blood already singing ‘Oya2’.

Captain Rex steps forward, past him, throws him a different smile as he goes. This one is pure challenge. “Yes,” he agrees. “You’re going to have to.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Brother. Back  
> 2\. A cheer, general expression of excitement. Used often before a fight. Lit. "Let's Hunt!" Back  
> 


End file.
